


"Doing okay there, pal?"

by BajillionKittens



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: All the Anxiety, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 09:09:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11354304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BajillionKittens/pseuds/BajillionKittens
Summary: Hunk dreads receiving his mark: the first words spoken to him by his soulmate written across his wrist by the gods for only him to see.





	"Doing okay there, pal?"

**Author's Note:**

> For semi-official Hancesome Week 2017, Day 3: Soulmate AU/College AU

It was a typical rainy January morning on the island, and again Hunk found himself curled in bed long after his alarm had sounded, unable to pull himself out of the growing cloud of dread blanketing the day and turning his stomach. Today there was slightly more reason to dread than usual, though. It was his birthday—his sixteenth birthday. And just as it had happened for generation upon generation before him, today he would receive his mark: the first words spoken to him by his soulmate would appear across his wrist, written by the gods for only him to see.

Hunk kept both of his hands firmly curled under his sheets. He didn’t want to see. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want a soulmate.

A soulmate was one more person he could disappoint, one more person to witness his screw-ups, one more person he could make miserable. And they would be bonded for life. No matter what Hunk did, no matter how annoying he was, no matter how huge his failures, this person could never leave him. They’d be stuck with him—forever. It was too much. Not that he was questioning the god or anything, but dude, seriously, who thought this would be a good idea?

And while their first words to him might be something perfectly normal and mundane or maybe even something romantic and poetic, what if his first words to them were something stupid? What if he misspoke? Repeated himself? Stuttered? Someone out there bore his mark and was just waiting for him to mutter whatever nonsense was written across their wrist, and when he did, they’d think, “Well, this is him. This is the idiot I’m spending the rest of my life with—whether I like it or not.” 

Hunk’s stomach gave an all too familiar lurch. He was going to throw up. If he couldn’t figure out a way around this, he was going to throw up.

Maybe if he just never looked at the mark, somehow the whole soulmate thing wouldn’t take effect. He could cover up his wrists for the rest of his life, right? Wind a bandage around it. Wear sleeves over it. Maybe getting a tattoo over it would work. But one screw-up, just one—and he had plenty of those—and the whole plan would be ruined. Some unsuspecting individual would suddenly be burdened with him once more. 

A gurgle rippled up his esophagus.

There was no way around it. Like it or not, this was his fate. He would have to accept it.

Just not right now. He would put it off for as long as he could. Fifteen more minutes. He could at least wait that long. Maybe longer. Just until his stomach settled. Or maybe the whole day. He’d stayed in bed that long before. He could do it again.

Several hours after the sun had hit its high point, Hunk’s back and bladder finally won out. He needed to move, but he did so slowly and only under protest. Eyes closed, he pulled his hands out from under his sheets, holding them bare before his face. He silently counted to three, took a breath, held it, and—

“Doing okay there, pal?”

Hunk laughed, a single, dry, surprised, nervous noise. He couldn’t believe his eyes. The words covered his wrist in bold, angular, elongated letters. He re-read them once. Twice. Three times. He could hear the concern—real, genuine, heartfelt concern—behind the words somehow. The more he read them, the clearer the voice in his head sounded.

When Hunk laughed again, there was a creeping wetness behind his voice. A wetness that began to overflow as he continued to chuckle to himself, dissolving into heavy, cathartic sobs. The morning’s worth of worry and dread flowed down his face and onto his pillow.

…

Lance wasn’t sure what “blerch” meant, but when he tried to pronounce it, it kinda sounded like someone throwing up. Only five minutes after midnight on his sticky, sweltering July birthday and already he’d run his fingers over the small, blocky letters so many times that his wrist was beginning to tingle. “Blerch.” The first words Lance would hear from his soulmate—maybe had already heard—were “blerch.” Whomever “blerch” was, wherever they were, he hoped they were doing okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Find this fic on tumblr.](http://bajillionkittens.tumblr.com/post/162421850847/for-hancesomeweek-day-three-soulmate-aucollege)


End file.
